


I survived (but it's not a happy ending)

by secretfeanorian



Series: the worst things in life come free to us [21]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: ...like, Nightmares, Oops, This is kind of dark, does this count as horror?, i'm not sure, maybe even more dark?, really - Freeform, seriously though, this is on par with the darkness in All These Empty Human Souls, ummmm, vague descriptions of ways Maglor's brothers die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2661767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretfeanorian/pseuds/secretfeanorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“JARVIS?” He calls out into the darkness, but all he gets back is silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I survived (but it's not a happy ending)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: It’s just kind of dark…I really don’t know how to describe it, but I’ll try. There is one bit where I describe how Maglor’s brothers died, but it’s not graphic…aside from that, I think it’s mostly just depressing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note from the Author (who is a dumbass and really is trying to wrap this series up): Okay, there are a few headcanons in here, so I should explain them to you. Headcanon #1: Maedhros’ scars, appropriately referred to as “scratch marks.” This comes from a really fucking dark headcanon I developed a few years ago where Maedhros felt Fingon die in some sense (that headcanon was dumb, now it’s just when he learned Fingon was dead and saw the body) and basically tried to rip his skull apart in a brief moment of horrible grief. Four scratch marks scarred his face after that, with two running down each side of his face from a little ways above his eyebrows to about his bottom lip. Headcanon #2 is actually explained in context. It’s the one about Caranthir’s death. If you are unclear on it, let me know and I’ll explain. Otherwise, I’ll just assume there’s enough in the story for that headcanon to become understandable and I just need to point out that it is a headcanon. There are a few other smaller headcanons in this, but I’m going to assume they don’t require explanation in order for this story to be understood since they are so minor. If I am wrong about that and something doesn’t make sense, please let me know.

_There is nothing worse, is there, than a past that has never been fully dealt with. One can convince oneself that it is all safely in the past and forgotten about, but the very fact that we can tell ourselves that it is forgotten proves that it is not.  
_

* * *

Maglor jerks awake with a start. For a moment, he holds still, trying to pinpoint exactly what had woken him. He hears only silence, but that does nothing to reassure him. He doesn’t jerk awake for no reason (and if he’d had a nightmare, he would remember. He always does right when he wakes up). “JARVIS?” He calls out, but when there is no response, he sits up.  
  
He is surrounded by absolute darkness and when he reaches to grip his sheets, there is nothing there. When he realizes this, he feels himself fall a short way and land on something that could pass as the ground. He feels his muscles begin to tense as he looks around, trying to pierce the darkness surrounding him. He fumbles around in the dark, looking for a weapon, figuring there won’t be one and softly curses when he discovers he’d figured correctly.  
  
There’s a faint flicker of light to his left and he spins around to look, but it’s already gone. “Hello?” He calls out, voice steady. He waits, but there is no response. Minutes pass and he feels his heart begin to beat a little more rapidly. Suddenly, there’s a scream and light abruptly returns. Maglor is left blinded for a few minutes as his eyes race to adjust. When they finally do, he immediately wishes they hadn’t.  
  
The scene before him is one that he is all too familiar with. He can smell the thousands of corpses and the only life on the otherwise still and silent battlefield at this moment is a tall red-haired elf on his knees weeping and a darker-haired elf above him with his head bowed.  
  
Maglor chokes on the air in his lungs as the sobs fill his ears. He can’t make out any other details – he is too far away – but he doesn’t need to. The memory is there and he remembers. He closes his eyes in an attempt to block the scene out, but that ends up being a horrible mistake as his mind calls the memory up and out of the box he’d locked it in and plays it in front of his eyes. He tries to turn away, to block it out, but then he sees Maedhros lift his head and blood is streaming down his face and Maglor chokes again because he **remembers** those scars.  
  
Of course he remembers them, how the hell could he forget?  
  
“Please…” He pleads brokenly, just wanting the image to go away. It does, but what it’s replaced with isn’t much better. Feanor lies on the ground before him, broken and bloody and _dying_. A sob escapes his lips and the projection of his father turns his eyes to him. He realizes that he’s kneeling as his father reaches out and takes his hand. “Cana…” He’s saying something, but Maglor can’t hear him over the pounding in his ears. Feanor squeezes his hand, then goes limp. Maglor feels his heart stutter and even as his father’s body begins to burn, he can’t force himself to let go.  
  
The moment fades from existence and he feels dread coiling in his gut. Someone is yelling and he can’t make out what they’re saying. He has a feeling that he knows and his feeling is proven true as the picture forms around him.   
  
Curufin is storming away from him and he suddenly has the urge to call out after him, and his mouth opens, but no words come out and he watches his younger brother walk away. He couldn’t hear the words being said, but he knows where this memory belongs and what was being said. He feels the horror and the grief associated with this moment begin to overwhelm and for a minute, he can’t fucking breathe.  
  
The memory leaves as he feels his past-self collapse and his lungs desperately suck in air. As the next memory takes him, he begins to feel a head pressed to his chest. He struggles to remember, but nothing comes to mind and this memory fades away without ever coming into focus.  
  
For a few minutes, no memories come up and he is almost holding his breath. Then, he sees a figure slowly coming toward him. He tenses, hands balling into fists. His breathing is still unsteady, but he takes deep breaths in an attempt to bring it back under his control. The figure is clad head to toe in armor and is wearing a helmet that completely covers their face. Maglor shifts uneasily, watching the person closely.  
  
They stop a few feet in front of him and stand there in complete silence. Maglor stares at the faceplate and tries not to swallow. He does anyway and the figure seems to almost watch him do so. Then they reach up to pull the helmet off…  
  
The world tilts sideways and Maglor can suddenly hear muffled sobs. He’s standing in front of a doorway – hand frozen above the door, raised to knock – listening to Curufin cry. He takes a deep breath, trying to be quiet. Either he succeeded or Curufin just doesn’t care, because the almost silent gasps don’t stop. Maglor swallows heavily and turns away.  
  
There is death all around him and he knows he’s at Sirion. He sees Amrod lying face down and unmoving in the dirt. He wants to race over and shake his younger brother; desperately wants Amrod not to be dead; but he’s frozen, in what he doesn’t know. A solitary tear falls down his cheek. He doesn’t brush it away, but neither do any more follow.  
  
He turns away. His own indifference scares him. From somewhere nearby, he hears the muffled sob of a young child.  
  
Maglor is back in the empty void, with no memory around him, but instead of the figure from before, his brothers stand there, looking at him. None of them say anything, and he feels an ominous presence. He takes a deep breath and almost chokes on it as Amras bursts into flames.  
  
At once, he knows what is happening and he tries to close his eyes, but it’s as if they’re being forced open. As Maglor watches, scars begin to appear on all of them, but most noticeably Maedhros. The scratch marks from Nirnaeth Areonaid appear and Maglor looks away too late.  
  
Curufin, Celegorm, and Caranthir all fall in sync from various wounds. Curufin’s throat is slit and there is a dagger in his gut. Celegorm’s leg is broken and a sword sticks out of his chest. Maglor turns away quick enough to not see Caranthir’s body, but he knows what he would’ve seen. Caranthir’s skull was half-shattered and one of Maglor’s own daggers pierced his heart.  
  
Caranthir would never have survived that wound and would’ve instead suffered a slow and painful death. Maglor had ended his younger brother’s misery, but he still feels nauseous whenever he thinks about what he had done.  
  
Amrod falls next, an arrow in his heart and another in his gut and a clean cut across his forehead. Maglor doesn’t want to watch Maedhros die again, but yet he can’t seem to look away. He can’t tell if it’s…whatever is holding him in this nightmare or simply himself, frozen in horror or some other emotion.  
  
He watches Maedhros burn away and when all that’s left are four corpses, the screaming starts again. He doesn’t realize he’s the one screaming this time until someone shakes him awake. His vision is blurred by tears and he can’t see the person before him, but he grasps them desperately and trembles.  
  
His stomach is turning and he feels like he might throw up, but he quells the reflex and struggles to fill his lungs with steady, deep breaths. He feels like he might collapse, but somehow he manages to get control of himself again. When he finally does, after what seems like hours, he swipes a hand across his eyes and looks up.  
  
It’s not just one person, it’s practically everyone. He buries his face into Sam’s (at least, he thinks it’s Sam’s. It might be Bucky’s) shoulder and tries to stop his shaking. He mostly succeeds. “I just-” He starts, but then his voice breaks. A shudder runs through his body, but he takes a deep breath and tries to smile. “Just a dream.” He forces out, and there are more than a few raised eyebrows at that. He sighs and doesn’t know what to say.  
  
No one presses him and after a moment, he stands on shaky legs. “I don’t want to go back to sleep.” He says, trying to keep his voice steady, but there’s a lingering tremor he can’t get rid of.  
  
“Fair enough.” Clint (he thinks it’s Clint) says and Maglor feels a sense of safety rush over him. He’s still shaking and he doesn’t want to go back to sleep ever and today is of course the day of that fucking press conference (which, when he thinks about it, might have something to do with his nightmare of memories), but at least there’s that.


	2. (they died for) forgotten honor and stolen glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from the Author: Can you tell I’m stalling writing the press conference? Because I am. Aren’t I a piece of shit.

_Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never beautiful. It was just red.  
_

* * *

It’s been a long time since Maglor sang something happy. He realizes this while sitting on the couch on the main floor. He’s convinced most of the other Avengers to go back to bed, but a few remain. Bucky, Steve, Thor, Sam and Natasha are scattered around the floor.  
  
He sits on the couch as he tries to think of a happy song. He’s drawing a blank and he tries not to laugh bitterly. He fails miserably and he’s aware of multiple pairs of eyes on him and he shakes his head softly in an attempt to get them to look away. He’s not sure how well it succeeds, but he doesn’t dwell on it.  
  
He rubs his eyes, still trying to erase the horror of the nightmare. He can feel eyes on him as he does so and sighs loudly. “I can’t remember what my father’s last words were.” He says, sick of the silence filling the floor.  
  
“You don’t have to speak of your dream-” Thor starts, but stops when Natasha shakes her head gently.  
  
“I remember he was covered in blood and his spark was going out, but he wasn’t weak. He was strong, strong as always up until the very moment he died.” Maglor says, firmly not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I remember I choked on a sob and I was kneeling beside him and he looked at me and he said my name as he took my hand, but I can’t remember what he said after that.” Silence. Maglor appreciates that silence.  
  
“Amras burned alive. It was an accident. The ships were burning and Amrod asked where Amras was. He hadn’t come ashore the previous night, but only Amrod knew. It was an accident.” Maglor resolutely does not say that Amrod blamed himself for his twin’s death for as long as lived and instead starts pulling at the couch cushions. He thinks there might be a loose thread somewhere.  
  
“Amrod died…” He thinks, but can’t come up with the number. “Many years later. It was at Sirion. I didn’t even cry. I saw him and I turned away. I’d seen too many loved ones die. I thought I could just be detached.” He snorts, an altogether not happy sound. “I couldn’t…I could’ve saved Maedhros…if only I could’ve moved…” He stops and swallows. He suddenly no longer wants to finish, but he can’t keep running from his past.  
  
“I killed Caranthir.” He forces out, “I had to…he would’ve…he would’ve suffered…” He whispers the last three words and doesn’t continue for a long moment. “Celegorm and Curufin died side-by-side. I…” He stops and closes his eyes. So many more had died. Maglor could go on for hours and hours and hours listing all the dead.  
  
And he doesn’t want to. So, he takes a deep breath and looks up; looks into Steve’s eyes. Then Thor’s and Bucky’s and Sam’s and Natasha’s. Then he tries to smile. “Amrod and Amras used to switch clothes on a regular basis. Our Ada finally made one of them put his hair into a bun and the other into a ponytail, but that just made it easier for them to pretend to be each other.” He smiles, a real one this time. “The secret was their freckles. You had to count their freckles. Amras had more than Amrod did.” He focuses on the happy memory and looks away.  
  
There’s silence again for a while, and then Thor says, “When Loki first began learning to shape-shift, he would practice by turning into servants or random people and trying to fool myself and Mother. Mother was never fooled, but I always fell for it. He claimed that he had to practice because what good was taking on another form physically if he couldn’t fool anyone into believing that he was mentally that person.”  
  
Maglor looks at Thor and smiles. He doesn’t say anything; can’t say anything, but his smile feels a little looser. He doesn’t say anything, but he draws out other happy memories and looks them over. Feanor bending over him, showing him letters. Maedhros chasing him around the house, chanting some rhythm that he can no longer remember. Nerdanel scolding a mud-covered Maedhros and Maglor, a fond smile on her face. Celegorm dragging a snake through the house, insisting they care for it.  
  
Maglor takes a deep breath and lets it out again. Happy memories are wonderful, but he can feel a familiar heartache settling over him and so he stops. He pulls his feet up from the floor and pulls his knees up to his chest. He takes a few deep breaths in that position and then drops his knees and stands.  
  
He has a notebook somewhere on this floor… After 15 minutes or so of looking around, Maglor finds the notebook and a pen. He sits back down on the couch, opens it and starts writing. He doesn’t even register what he’s writing. He thinks it might be memories. Or it could be music. It could also just be nonsense. He doesn’t pay attention. He doesn’t care.  
  
He writes frantically for 15 minutes and then abruptly closes the notebook and puts it back where he found it. He doesn’t look back or glance back or read any of what he had written. He just slips it back into its hiding place and returns to the couch.  
  
Someone offers to put a movie in and he shrugs. There’s a quiet argument which Maglor thinks Steve wins, but he’s not paying enough attention to be sure. Whatever the movie is that they do end up putting in is animated and he thinks it might be Lilo and Stitch. He’s not sure. He’s rarely sure about anything anymore.  
  
At some point, he gets up and goes to sit in the kitchen. For a while, the Avengers who are on Maglor-sitting duty (Yes, he does actually call it that. No, he doesn’t know if they do. [He doubts it] Yes, he knows it’s a little pathetic. No, he doesn’t care) leave him alone, but eventually Sam comes in. He doesn’t say anything, just sits down and starts looking at his phone.  
  
Maglor really doesn’t like being alone. (In his head, he thinks there is some irony in that. He’d never liked being alone. And yet, he’d chosen to wander alone for most of eternity. Part of him says he didn’t chose and another part says that it was supposed to be a punishment. If someone who deserved punishment like he did loved being alone, being alone for all of eternity wouldn’t be much of a punishment. But he doesn’t love being alone; he hates it) He takes yet another deep breath and focuses on Sam’s presence. Then, with a surprisingly small amount of energy, he pushes his memories of the past away for the time being.


End file.
